The Last All Clear
by Aravyne Elise
Summary: Ivan Braginski was an infamous military leader-he was ruthless, cruel, bitter, and more than anything else, bored. Alfred F. Jones was a man willing to risk everything for his people, even if it meant using methods...less than decent. When the two cross paths, however hostile they act, they find they have much in common, aside from one tiny little detail. Kingdom AU; RusxFem!Ame
1. Meeting

**Hi there! This is my first fanfic, so please excuse any trouble I have with this thing. **

**Anyway, I don't Hetalia, so yeah.**

Ivan admired everything about a radio.

It could be used to order a single command that would lead to the deaths of thousands, or release the sweet, clear sound of war time music. The crackly voice heard from behind the speakers informed wives and children that their husbands and fathers had not survived the trek, but they had a good run. They served their country and were a valued life between the start and end warfare. Oh, what _lies_. This battle couldn't be avoided—it was inevitable, they said. Humans are creatures of habit. They bow down to the ways of old, never bothering to cut the strings from the cross, wooden stick that keeps them tied. Until then, they will be puppets, moving and dancing about in a way that pleases only the leaders. The cruel, heartless men with the world at their fingertips. Ivan was one of those men.

He knew this. His lips quirked up in an amused smirk at the thought. The woman and children would weep, but be comforted by the empty statement that claimed their loved ones played a part in this madness. Well, yes, they had played a part. Even if all it was turned out to be adding to the constantly rising number of casualties. They played the part no one else wanted to perform when they auditioned. Maybe we should be lucky humans are such blind followers. Perhaps the phrase 'learn from your mistakes' might finally sink in. We have learned the hard way that these petty wars only result in meadows morphing from lively green to a dull yet aching red as bits and pieces of debris are carried through the air by wind turned black from smoke.

Ivan didn't mind it. _Let mankind be mankind—be that destroyers or saviors. _He was thankful for the radio. If he found the right station, he would be content to sit by the window and let his vision blur along with his thoughts, letting the two wander wherever they pleased. And as one of those lovely, hopeful songs sounded through the air, he felt an emotion well up inside of him. One that had not resurfaced for a long time.

_When they sound the last all clear_

_How happy, my darling, we'll be_

_When they turn up the lights_

_And the dark lonely nights_

_Are only a memory_

_Anger_ coursed through his veins at the words. They were wrong. They were lying. Who ever said that the Last All Clear would be the end of it? No, it would just be the start; a period of time to rest before the real horrors began. Ivan narrowed his eyes. He did not like lies. They were excuses.

_Never more we'll be apart_

_Always together sweetheart_

_For the peace bells will ring_

_And the whole world will sing_

_When they sound the last all cl—_

Ivan would not allow this to continue. He looked down to find the radio in his hands. Who submit him to listen to these foolish words that were not meant for his ears? Ivan threw the radio across the room, his lips turning down in disgust as the plastic splintered into pieces after hitting the wall of his bedroom with a loud thud. Sighing, he grabbed a coat from the closet in the corner and quickly slipped it over his loose white shirt, relishing its beige color. After buttoning it down the middle, he pulled on a pair of worn, knee high brown leather boots, tucking his black pants into the crevices in between the skin and shoes. Not that it mattered—while it did fan out ever so slightly towards the bottom, the warm coat reached below his knees, almost touching the floor. Finally, he snatched his favorite light pink scarf and left the room.

Today was special. Ivan would have to ask his staff to be very mindful of their actions. Losing the game after he'd just set up the pieces would be rather disappointing. He had moved first, now it was time for his opponent to challenge him. The fun had just started, yes, but every roll of the die that signaled a piece would be placed elsewhere was noteworthy. He used to enjoy chess, but that had changed long ago. To win, Ivan knew he would have to gamble eventually, but that was okay. He loved to gamble—especially when he knew he'd be triumphant in the end. This game would be different and Ivan was anticipating a grand event. After all, his adversary in this particular match had shown signs of creditable decisions. Ivan was excited to this mystery man, this Alfred F. Jones, and today was the day they would be introduced.

After descending the stairs with almost unnatural grace, he started for the kitchen, where he expected most of his staff would be, but stopped short when he spotted a figure standing nervously in the waiting room.

As he looked at the young boy standing before him, Ivan walked towards him with two greedy eyes, practically engulfing the existence of the poor boy. He couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, with brown hair and wonderful green eyes. Looking closer, Ivan was intrigued to find that, closer to his pupils, that green color was dulled to a soft blue hue. Ivan didn't stop the sinister smile that stretched across his skin at the sight of this pretty creature. He wanted him. He wanted him very much. The only disappointment was finding the ever-present subdued look in his eyes—at the same time, it was a pleasant site.

"What is your name, child?" Ivan purred. "Why are you here?"

The boy's chest rose and fell quickly. "I-I came with the Jones company, sir." He shifted uncertainly, fear causing his lower lip to tremble.

Ivan hummed thoughtfully. "Ah, I see." He stepped closer, towering over him, the gap between the two now so small they were breathing each other's air. "Your name, little one?"

"Toris." At his name, the servant boy lifted his head higher and his eyes flashed with pride. "Toris Laurinaitis."

"Well," Ivan murmured with a cruel smile, "I would like to keep you."

Toris's breath hitched. "S-sir, I b-belong to Mr. Alfred Jones."

Ivan merely shrugged. "I think we can work something out. You are only a _possession_, after all." Seeing Torrance flinch encouraged him to push further. "That must not be very nice," he casually looked at his nails, "having to introduce yourself as a thing. Tell me, how is it a pretty little boy like you ended up here of all pl—"

"That's enough. Please remove yourself from him." The words were polite but stern, more demand than a question.

Ivan ignored the urge to kill the sudden interruption and turned his head to the side so that he could see the culprit.

Five feet away stood a beautiful woman with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, a red clip on each side of her head, and sparkling azure eyes. She wore a flowing, topless blue dress that fit snugly against her curves. Her tall white heels allowed her to stand at Ivan's chin, but he suspected she would look much smaller and less confident without them.

She spoke again and fearlessly looked him straight in the eye. "Mr. Alfred awaits you in the room you requested, however he insists the discussion take place with you and him only." She walked forward and put a firm, almost protective hand on Toris's shoulder, to which he visibly relaxed.

"Of course," Ivan took a step pack and nodded at the woman, "Whatever he pleases. And who are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

The woman smirked. "I work for Mr. Jones. You could call me an…advisor."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "A girl? In a position of such power? How…unlikely."

"Believe me, you'd be surprised," she muttered with an unimpressed stare.

"Ah, well, I will be going now." He turned on his heel and left in the direction of his study, where he planned to have the meeting with this Alfred Jones, deciding to deal with the servant boy and annoying woman later. What she meant, he could not guess, but it only intrigued him further.

Once there, Ivan slowly opened the door and said, "Mr. Alfred, it is a ple—"

He stopped, blinking in surprise. No one was there. His eyes narrowed. That brat had lied? To him? She would certainly regret it.

A tap on Ivan's shoulder alerted him of someone else's presence. He spun around, letting the anger he felt pool into his furious violet eyes.

It was that wretched women! He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to draw blood. "Where is Jones, bitch?" Her reaction was smothered expertly, but Ivan could see the pain in her stiff figure. He smirked. "It hurts, _da_?"

With steeled eyes, the wench put the hand of her uninjured shoulder to her forehead and mocked a salute. "Alfred Jones, a _pleasure._" She took advantage of Ivan's shock, removing his hand and nonchalantly flicking off the drops of blood that seeped from beneath her skin. "At least, that's what the world knows me as. I personally like to go by Amelia."

Ivan frowned. "Is this some sort of joke? Surely you cannot be _the _Alfred F. Jones."

"The one and only, my friend." Amelia nodded towards the open door behind Ivan. "Mind if we sit?"

She did not wait for an invitation, rather, she nudged Ivan's bulking figure away from the doorway so that she enter the quaint room and lower herself into a lavish chair. Amelia waited patiently for Ivan to regain his senses, and not a minute later, a tall shadow loomed above her.

"Who the hell are you?" Ivan asked.

"Didn't you hear me the first time, dude? Alfred F. Jones." She rotated her waist to look up at the man behind her. "Look, can you sit down? I'll explain."

Ivan reluctantly complied, stiff and angry in his chair behind his mahogany desk.

"You know what kind of world we live in. A girl has about as much power as a fly. Men seem to ignore the fact that we can really kick some ass. So what happens when my father dies and leaves everything to his two sons, one a wacko and the other silent as hell, and useless daughter? My mother knew that my brothers would never take the throne, so she magically transformed me into a boy," Amelia leaned closer and smiled. "Just kidding! She knew I would be treated like shit, so two boys suddenly turned into three. Get me, big guy? She probably never imagined me turning into a sexy mastermind, but whatever. So here I am, Amelia F. Jones. I've made my move, Ivan Braginski," she leered, "what's yours?"


	2. Leaving

**-Chapter 2-**

Ivan folded his hands on top of his desk, recomposing himself. "Admirable. You have managed to keep this little secret of yours for a very long time, but how do I know you are not lying?"

"You don't."

"Mm, I see. You are very beautiful. A sight any man would like to see, perhaps take advantage of. What do you think would happen if I accidentally let this knowledge slip?"

"Every time." Amelia sighed and slumped back into her seat, a bored expression on her face. "I'm disappointed, Ruski. I thought you would be different. What is it with you people and threatening? Every single man I've told always looks for the first threat they can find. Where is that gentleman façade? I kinda liked it."

"I will not pass a chance of insurance when I can get it so easily."

"Alright, alright, you win. But do you really think anyone would believe you? Alfred Jones, the Kingdom of America's most valued military leader, a girl? Nuh-uh, not happening. Hell, even I wouldn't believe that."

"_Da, _I will admit, you are right. But a little convincing is all it takes." Ivan waved the subject away. It was not important. "You said your brothers were incapable of taking the throne. What thrown, may I ask?" He had a suspicion, but it was pretty far-fetched. However, if he was right, his lovely company was worth a lot more than she let on.

"_The _throne, you commie."

_Just as I thought. _"We are no longer a communist kingdom," Ivan said idly, choosing not to dwell on the insult.

He pursed his lips in thought. The woman in front of him was obviously important, supposedly someone who would soon be a ruler (although, Ivan doubted her reign would be accepted), freely giving information to an enemy who was known for the hate he harbored towards her kingdom. If that were the case, Ivan could not have been any luckier. He could easily capture her, easily use her as bait against the one man he wanted to kill more than anything in the world_. _In fact, it all seemed too easy. Almost as if she was playing into his trap. Ivan decided it would be best to know more before doing anything that would have permanent consequences. She could be lying, he reasoned, despite the impossibility of learning the time and place of their meeting, which was only told to Alfred F. Jones, impersonating a man, and sneaking into his manor without anyone realizing.

A simple question would probably be the best start to figuring out the motive. "Why are you telling me this?"

"That's not your concern. We set up our little meeting to negotiate."

Ivan noticed she did not look him in the eyes when she avoided the question. He opened a cabinet beneath his desk, pulling out a small stack of papers. "Very well. Here are the Kingdom of Russia's negotiable options for ending this petty war." He slid them across the desk and into Amelia's waiting hands.

She rifled through them quickly, muttering to herself and shaking her hand. When she seemed satisfied, she neatly placed them back in order, bluntly stated, "Fuck no," and crossed her arms stubbornly.

Ivan feigned a look of innocence. "Really? So quick to deny. I thought our requests were perfectly reasonable."

"Bullshit," Amelia slammed her hands down. "What the fuck is this? You want to do everything but annex us! Do you realize thi—" suddenly, she straightened her back, and smiled faintly at the audacity of the ingenious Russian before her. "Ooooh, _oh. _You sly bastard." Then she scowled.

"That was quicker than I thought," Ivan chuckled. "For a girl."

Amelia snarled. "Shut up. Shut the hell up. Don't you care for the lives of everyone fighting? They're _dying._ And you give me a list of impossible 'requests' so that we'll say no, and you can get all the bloodshed you want. Because you knew I'd say no, girl or _not, _and that's a declaration of all-out war, right? God, I hope you die alone and in pain, you stupid ass mother fucking piece of sh—"

"You have a very dirty mouth. I am resisting the urge to wash it with soap myself." Ivan interrupted. He smiled, but it looked more like a twisted smirk. It was about as sincere as a con man. "Well! I presume our meeting is done, then? I will see you again on the battlefield? Right next to your king?"

The next words that left her mouth made Ivan's eyes widen with surprise.

"Maybe, maybe not. If he lives until then."

"You question the abilities of your king?"

"I'm gonna tell you a secret Ivan Braginski." Amelia smiled a smile that so feral it could match his. "I'm not here for the reasons you think. We have a lot more in common than you know."

A knock echoed in the room, forcing him to halt the words that were about to be let out.

Amelia, the stupid, stupid girl, took it upon herself to call, "Come in," with a tone much sweeter than the one she was using not five seconds before.

The boy from earlier, Toris, hurriedly stepped inside, careful not to go any farther than he had to. "M-mrs. Jones," he said.

_He knows, then? _

"His majesty has sent a message. It seems Mr. Matthew is in need of your assistance. King Atlan requests you return immediately."

"Gotcha, thanks, Toris."

Amelia's grin had turned from threatening to endearingly friendly. Ivan took note of that fact that her rigid posture relaxed and her eyes softened. Now was the perfect time keep her from leaving, however...forceful the means. "So soon?" he asked. "What a pity. If you do not mind, child, please leave us. We will be done soon."

Toris looked at Amelia, doing as Ivan told him after she nodded.

"I would like you to stay."

"No can do, big guy." Amelia shook her head. "Duty calls." she shifted in her chair, and for the first time Ivan noticed the outline of what was presumably a knife beneath her dress.

"_Nyet, _I must insist. I would like you to stay. It would be a shame to mar that pretty face of yours. Please do not make it harder than need be. Do not leave your seat." he warned.

By now, Amelia was fully aware of his intentions. A ball of fear formed in the pit of her stomach, spreading throughout her body and threatening to render her useless. It was quickly repressed. _Don't you dare panic, Jones. You knew this would happen. C'mon, get out! _

She raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep her voice even and face impassive. If this is what it would come down to, so be it. "Look, it's been real great. But I really gotta scaddadle."

Without warning, she scrambled up and dove for the doorknob with a remarkable amount of speed, but it wasn't enough. Ivan's reflexes were far past normal. In less in than a second, he had crossed the relatively big office and, with two large hands, grabbed Amelia by the waist, flinging her back with enough strength to make her crash into the desk. A gasp left her lips when her back collided with the solid wood. The middle of her spine was hit first. Like a wave, her head, legs, and arms followed. She felt to the ground, coughing violently.

Ivan didn't waste any time on getting a firm hold again. He reached for a fistful of wheat-colored hair and yanked, hard. Amelia yelped, clawing at arms that refused to budge. She was flipped stomach down. Ivan straddled her and immobilized her shaking hands by pressing them painfully against the carpeted floor. He did not realize her foot was kicking up until it was digging into his the soft flesh covering his back. The suspiciously sharp top piece of the heel of her shoe ripped through layers of clothing and left an ugly gash. Ivan was put off-balance, a result of the force, and Amelia was able to twist her torso enough to withdraw her body. Her strength was astounding.

Both stood.

"Don't underestimate the power of heels, Braginski." Amelia spat, haphazardly swiping at her mouth to remove the dribbling trail of blood. The act only caused the crimson liquid to smudge. He responded with a cruel smile.

Why did he look so smug? _Oh. _Now she was scared. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. A problem presented itself: a bulking Russian was in the way of her escape, standing firmly between her and the door. The urge to sprint towards it with all she had was tempting. But that would be foolish.

The knife strapped to her thigh reminded her of its presence when she felt the cool metal handle press against her leg. Immediately, she whipped it out.

Without thinking, she took two steps and jabbed at Ivan's unprotected abdomen. It entered about an inch before he grabbed her wrist and pulled it back. He didn't even wince at the pain.

Her knife clattered to the ground when he squeezed hard enough to break her wrist. The fist of Ivan's other hand rammed into her stomach.

Amelia's lungs contracted, leaving her breathless and crumpled on the floor.

"You fight without strategy. Just as I expected." Ivan growled, his grasp on her wrist was sturdy, and he twisted it until a _crack _sounded in the air.

Amelia screamed. "You _fucker!_" Tears blurred her vision. But giving up now was admitting defeat. Faster than Ivan would have thought, she outstretched the fingers of her free hand and snatched the forgotten knife.

Ivan hissed when it was stabbed into his leg.

It was in that positioned that they stayed, because the door was opened suddenly, and Amelia was faced with the image of long platinum blonde hair topped with a bow, a dark purple dress, a white waist apron, black stockings, and mary janes. What caught Amelia's attention, though, was the terrifyingly murderous face that changed beautiful features.

"What have you done…" the girl spoke. She whipped out a large, intimidating knife, eyes fixed on the American.

Those four words, filled with so many wrong intentions and promise for hurt, made Amelia realize that, while she did not yet know what she had done, it was bad. When Ivan's body started trembling, another alarm was set off.

"Oh, _shit._"

**A/N: This took longer than expected, but whatever, that's what weekends are for, right? Anyway, hope you liked it, dear reader! Please review to let me know!**


	3. Unwinding

-Chapter 3-

"N-natalya, I-I did not think you would be back for another t-two days." Ivan stuttered.

"What did you say, you filthy swine?" Natalya seethed, ignoring Ivan's protest, eyes focused on the American.

Amelia found the insult was far more annoying coming from a girl who was obviously younger than it was coming from Ivan. Amelia's eye twitched with anger when she stated, "I said 'shit', 'cause, honey, you look like you wanna kill me."

"S-sister, it is not what it looks like. Please, ca-" Ivan tried again, but was quickly cut off.

"This bitch is your sister?" Amelia exclaimed. She wanted to laugh, and laugh she did. Ivan was strong, tall, intimidating, and apparently his weakness was a little girl wearing a dress and a bow.

"What?" Natalya ground out. "You _dare _call me-"

"Yes, I do dare." Amelia replied with challenging grin.

"I will kill you!"

"You sure can try,"

"I will succeed."

"I'll give ya a hundred bucks if you do."

"You cannot give me money if you are dead."

"Damn, you got me." Amelia replied sarcastically. She untangled herself from Ivan's slackened and shaking grip, straightening out her dress and brushing a few fingers through her tangled hair. "Alrighty, nice chat, friends, but I should really go. Natalya, you've got huge boobs, I respect that, you slutty whore. Ivan, we'll meet again soon. Have with this psycho."

With that, she practically sprinted out of the room, surprised by the ease with which she was able to leave.

Unbeknownst to her, Natalya was already plotting out her gruesome death. But Ivan's sister filed her plans away, more focused on her injured brother-the only reason she allowed their visitor to escape, as he was her main focus at the moment-and his frightened face. He was covered in blood-presumably not his own-and small forming bruises and cuts that littered his body. When Natalya noticed he was still quivering, more violently now than before, she immediately drew close. "Do not be afraid, big brother. That stupid woman is gone, I will make sure she does not come back. She will not get in the way of our marriage."

As per usual, Natalya mistook the fear's origin, under the impression that Ivan was afraid of the idiot who had fled like a coward. He didn't have the courage, however, to tell his sister that he was actually terrified of her, not Amelia. Ivan gulped. He loved his sister dearly, but her unwavering insistence on a wedding for the two made him more scared of her than any enemy he had ever faced. The idea of marriage had been planted in the girl's mind at a young age, and Ivan had always hoped her chilling demeanor would change as they grew older. He wished she would understand that he would not be respected by the world if he were to marry a seventeen-year-old. Especially a seventeen-year-old that he did not in the slightest love in a romantic sense, was his family, who frightened him beyond measure, and had no control over her emotions. Natalya was known for killing anyone who disturbed her on a bad day—aside from her beloved brother, of course. While Ivan did not mind it, it was becoming increasingly frustrating, since he had assigned himself the job of handpicking soldiers of his elite force, many of whom were being picked off by a relatively innocent looking girl with an infamous butcher knife. The only reason he did not put her in the military, for he was sure she would do significant damage to any opponent, was because he could not afford to lose concentration when strategizing on the battlefield. Natalya would definitely break that concentration once she worked her way to the top, to his elite force. Easily.

When she sidled even closer than before, only a inch away, Ivan shrunk back. "Sestra, I am f-fine, please leave me." he begged.

"Nyet, big brother, you are hurt, let me bandage your wounds."

She left the room to Ivan's relief, but it was short lived. Natalya came back less than a minute later, carrying a first aid kit and bottle of vodka. She sat down and reached into the box of supplies to pull out a roll of gauze, wipes, and ointment to prevent swelling. When he tried to take a swig of vodka, his sister harshly slapped his hand away. Ivan could tell she was upset that he had been alone with another woman, conveniently forgetting the fact that their position made it obvious he was hurting her-something he would have thought Natalya would be happy about. In fact, had Natalya not interfered, Ivan would have subdued the idiot eventually. The wench put up a good fight, but she was no match for a man of his build.

Ivan was pulled back down every time he attempted to leave. He tried using the nickname Natalya loved to hear to get out of her threatening grasp, but to no avail. "N-natasha, I must w-work, and I can barely fe-"

"Big brother," Natalya started darkly, ripping out the knife that was still lodged in his leg with more force than was necessary and dumping vodka on the laceration, making Ivan hiss, "you must accept my acts of love, it will make you better."

"Y-yes, sister," Ivan said, at her mercy.

He finally gave up, letting himself be tended to by the only family he had left. It was then that a particularly strong longing for his older sister hit, echoed, stayed.

…

"Oh, Mrs. Amelia, how many times have I told you to be careful? Throwing your body around is not healthy, please, you must start thinking before you act!" Toris frustratedly said.

His hands flitted nervously around Amelia's body, unsure where to start. It was a hard to tell which was worse: the broken bones or the mild internal bleeding

She laughed good naturedly and lied, "I did think before I acted! Well, I thought while I acted, but that's the same thing right?"

Having Toris figure out the reasoning from every one of her actions was not part of the plan.

He sighed and decided to start with the broken wrist. "No, no they are not the same thing." Amelia yelped when he held it between his fingers. When Toris retracted his hands, stuttering an apology, he was waved off.

"Come on, Toris, there's no need to apologize. I got myself into this mess, remember? I'm just lucky I have someone like you to help get me out of it."

Toris relaxed when Amelia grinned despite the pain in her eyes, touched by her words, and began with carefully setting the broken bones he could detect. Being jostled in the large carriage-one large enough that Amelia had enough room to lie down, head resting on a soft pillow, Toris sitting next to her-brought the need for extra care and precaution. Doing the task was far more difficult as a result, but Toris did what he could. Arthur always took care of the rest.

When the most obvious most obvious of her wounds were wrapped, Amelia tried to sit up, much to the disapproval of her friend. There was a "Jesus fuck!" and she was lying back down again. Her breathing was labored and she was biting her lip in an attempt to keep from crying out again. Toris was reminded that she had taken a hard blow to the stomach, so he quickly asked permission to rip the silky dress open for access to a stomach in need of attention.

"You wanna see my sexy abs, eh? Go for it." Amelia smiled cheekily, then pouted. "A pity, though. Arthur had some super cool fairies weave this beauty for me. Mind if I take it off, instead? Don't worry, I'm wearing a comfy pair of boxers. And a strapless bra. I think."

She lifted the top of her dress and glanced beneath it. "Yup! Definitely wearing somethin'. Erm, sorry, Toris, but you're gonna have to help me out here."

A light blush touched his cheeks, but he sighed and nodded. Amelia had gotten herself into enough odd situations that Toris was familiar with the request. And like every other time he had seen her half naked, he smiled faintly. Today she was wearing boxers that were covered by multiple emblems of her kingdom's flag. How does she get a hold of these? Toris thought with incredulity. Well, she does know her fair share of powerful people. He helped Amelia shimmy out of the dress by pulling it over her head.

Purple, blue, and green bruises stood out from the tanned skin on her stomach. She lifter her head high enough to get a glimpse and groaned, loosening the muscles in her neck to plop back onto the pillow. Toris winced, upset that he would not be able to do anything other than add a healing salve Arthur had given him to the mix of contusions.

"Done?" Amelia asked when he twisted a lid back onto the small container of foul-smelling salve.

Toris said, "Yes." He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it again. This did not go unnoticed by the other passenger.

Amelia looked at him with an inquisitive and expecting stare. "Give to me, Toris."

"I-well, I don't think that you'll like what I have to say?"

"That doesn't usually stop me from talking, so why should it stop you?"

"Er, I suppose that's true," Toris said admitted. "It's just-why would you put your life in danger to be that terrible man? You could have easily sent Kiku, he probably would have handled it better, or Ludwig or even if you died? I knew told you going would disastrous, but you went anyway.

"Now look at what has happened! You have not been hurt this badly since you got into a fight with the Kingdom of Denmark's representative. Even then, he had an ax. Mr. Braginski used nothing but his two hands. And he may retaliate, perhaps declare war against us. You told me my opinion mattered, and I gave it to you, yet it was ignored. The one time I asked you not to do what you wanted." Toris' complaint tapered off into a worried whisper.

It was silent for a moment. Then, with a distressed voice, Amelia said, "Of course it does, Toris. You know that. Whenever I actually plan something, I'll ask what you think first, right? You're real smart, could be a little more assertive, but smart. Hell, when I was sixteen, I was still asking Artie to give me piggy-back rides. But this-this is different. I'm gonna have to keep this to myself. Ivan and I, we're both want the same thing, he just doesn't know it yet. I'm a girl in a world where men are superior. Sucks that I have to pretend to be a man around 99.99 percent of the population. He needs to know, though! We can work together. When I heard about what he wanted to do, I knew we had to meet. We can kill hi-" she stopped, wearing a facial expression similar to that of deer caught in headlights. "I-I meant, I really think this needed to happen. To, uh, expose that asshole for who he really is.!" Okay, that didn't even make sense. Dammit, Jones, why couldn't you keep your mouth shut!

"What? You were saying something else, Mrs. Amelia. Please tell me w-"

"Oh, look, we're here!" she lifted herself and hopped out of the carriage, igniting pain from all of her injuries. Amelia clenched her fists tight, so as to keep the strangled cries to a minimum.

She thanked God they had arrived in time to cut the conversation short. That excuse had been horrifically weak. What had she been thinking, slipping up like that? Amelia was never one to keep secrets, that much was evident. But this one time, her lips had to stay sealed. Were the right person to find out about the real reason for her visit with Ivan Braginski...execution might be the best punishment, as her cause for the impossible plan she had was treason in itself. With that in mind, Amelia walked almost completely bare through lush gardens and dozens of guards to reach a towering wooden gate.

They were used to her antics, and did nothing more than roll their eyes as she passed.

Toris followed close behind, strongly suspicious. What had she meant? Had he heard her correctly, or did the word _kill _actually leave that constantly blabbering mouth? Toris knew, he _knew _that her excuse couldn't possibly why she fought so hard to come, to introduce herself as Alfred F. Jones, to risk losing her life-he knew there was another motive hidden behind her justification. That girl rarely ever did get enough credit for her intelligence. To everyone who saw Alfred F. Jones, she was a genius role model. To the few who met Amelia Jones, she was a stupid child who stuck her nose into others' business. While each woman who was let in on the Kingdom of Russia's little secret showed intense admiration, almost all the men were disbelieving, disgusted, accusing.

However, Ivan and Amelia had been at each other's throats for months. Every move was calculated, every word purposeful. Toris couldn't, wouldn't, believe she had traveled days to reach a kingdom she loathed, only to meet an evil man who, from what Toris gathered as a result of long hours alone with the most talkative person on Earth, immediately shot down any plans of mending broken relations.

There was something else. Something Amelia had neglected to tell him. He considered asking Matthew or Arthur, but was well aware the he was Amelia's outlet, which meant she confessed just about secret kept to him. So he would be told. _She would tell me_, Toris tried to assure himself. But another question popped into his head. Another confirmation that the puzzle was not nearly close to being completed. Amelia had mentioned Ivan wanting to do something? She had said he needed to know-know what? Everything was becoming so confusing it was all he could do to keep from tearing at the hairs on his head.

When the gate was lowered and their access to the huge stone castle was granted, Toris clutched the folded dress in his hands tighter, unsure how to handle the arising problem that troubled him.

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! Any typos? Please let me know, and I hope you enjoy!**


	4. Confusing

**A/N: So sorry this took so long! But, I kinda have to get good grades in school to get outta here, ya know? Only four more years and I'm out of high school...and then I move onto college...yay. Being a freshman = -.-**

**-Chapter 4-**

"I'm ho-ooome!" Amelia called into the vast castle.

Rays of sun from tall windows that replaced most of the first floor walls filtered past glass and reflected off of the gold railing that lined the many hallways, each one with a different destination. Maids bustled about, only stopping for a second to glance at who had arrived. Lively and colorful million dollar paintings hung on what little of the walls weren't transparent. Perfectly chiseled busts of past leaders created two parallel rows that stopped when they reached a long flight of stairs that climbed from middle of the room to next floor. At the top of those steps, another floor was waiting, and above that, ten more stories were connected by scattered stairs.

Immediately, Amelia's call was met by an, "_Amelia, you tosser, get the hell in here this instant!_"

She winced and turned Toris. He gave her a questioning look. "Urgh, Arthur did that mind thingy. God dammit," she craned her neck and looked up at the ceiling, and yelled loud enough for Arthur to hear. "Artie, you have _got _to stop doing that!"

Toris chuckled. "It is much faster than walking. He is close to the top floor after all," he reasoned. "Will you need any more assistance?"

He was already leaving, for he knew Amelia would refuse any help, even in her weakened state.

"Nah, it's fine. Thanks for comin' with me, dude, I'm pretty sure Feliks is working in the kitchens today, so you can go find him if you want. I gotta go, but see you later." Amelia left with a flick of her wrist. She jogged to the second floor, reaching her room and entering. Then, it was just an impatient wait for the familiar feeling of Arthur's magic wrapping around her body, covering it with a layer that allowed her limbs to slip through walls as she was propelled upward by an unseen force, a bit like a bubble. It felt nice and cool against her aching bones, almost like aloe vera on a burn, the only difference being Arthur's magic healed _all _of her injuries, even the internal ones.

Arthur's study was Amelia's stop. It took up a large portion of the eighth floor. Arthur had requested all other rooms be removed to allow for more space. It was composed of a small library, plenty of desk space, and libratory-like corner. But the room was mostly overtaken by dozens of alchemy books in varying states, half mixed potions, and burnt food. There was also an abundance of models-both miniature and life size-portraying creatures who were known to have magic flowing through their veins. Unicorns, hell hounds, griffins, fairies, the like.

With a snap of his fingers, Arthur retracted his magic, leaving Amelia, who was suspended above the wooden floor, to fall on her butt. She squeaked, then groaned, lying flat on her back.

"Hey there, Arthur, nice to see you too." Amelia huffed and closed her eyes.

Arthur smacked her cheek lightly with the back of his palm. "Oh, hush." His slightly disgusted expression made it clear that he was not happy with her attire, or lack thereof. He didn't ask for an explanation, however, so Amelia didn't give one, though it was rather obvious why he didn't press for details. Arthur was very experienced when it came it medicine, and he knew treating the gruesome bruises on Amelia's stomach could not be done with clothing in the way. He also knew he had taught Toris well enough that the boy would also realize this.

Amelia could tell by the Arthur's big, long breaths that he was angry. For a multitude of reasons, she was sure, but one in particular was ultimately the cause of Arthur's livid demeanor. Amelia knew a stern speech would be oh-so generously provided, but tried to avoid it anyway. "Erm, so, I'm feeling pretty fucked right now, could you please, uh, do your thing?"

"You idiot! I told you not to go, I told you, and you immediately run off, going who knows where!"

Amelia sighed internally. _Guess it couldn't be helped. Do I still remember how to sleep with my eyes open? _she thought. When Amelia opened her eyes, she was met with the sight of a very red faced Englishman. His impossibly large eyebrows were furrowed into a scowl. He continued his rant, "Oh, wait, _I_ knew! You chased after the _military lord _of the Kingdom of _Russia, _known for its _communism. _That wanker could have _killed _you, Amelia. Will you, for once, not be so bloody selfish as to put our entire kingdom in danger? You have no right to _casually _visit, as you wrote in the letter you kindly left in my chambers the day you went to see that git-remember that?- without consulting with any of us! What if he starts a war? It's hard enough that the Kingdom of France is on edge, and a full on war with the Kingdom of China is taking place on our borders. You must control yourself, Amelia, you can't keep doing this. Wanker." He crossed his arms and looked down at her with a steely stare.

"What, Arthur? Can't keep doing what?" Amelia threw her arms into the air. "Because, as far as I can tell, I'm doing more than anyone in this stupid ass castle_. _I'm sorry, okay? I'm _so _sorry for trying to fix something that everyone else is too scared to."

"Don't be foolish! You are acting childish and-"

Amelia laughed humorlessly. "Childish? Look at you, Arthur! You're in here, day in and day out. You're obsessed with your magical friends, and I get that, you liked those cute little shits, but they're gone, dead, not coming back! One of us said no to the throne, Arthur, and that was you. _You. _Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Mattie, 'cause he's the only reason I came back." She heatedly staggered to her feet, easily ignoring the pain using adrenaline from her rising heartbeat.

Arthur calmly said, "Don't bother. I told Toris to tell you Matthew asked for you," he sucked in a breath, "because I knew you wouldn't come for me."

Amelia froze in her place, the hand that was about to yank the door open pausing. She turned her neck so that Arthur could see her face. "You're right, I wouldn't. Thanks for nothing."

The door was already slammed behind her, her feet stomping away at the helpless floorboards, but she still heard a voice in her head.

"_I only wish to protect you, Emy. You are my sister, my only sister. What would I do if you were taken?"_

"You can't control me, Artie, you fucking hypocrite," she mumbled aloud.

Her pounding feet against the floor made loud thumps as she stormed to her room. Amelia threw herself on the king sized bed in her room and screamed into a pillow. Tears of frustration streamed down her face.

Why was nobody _doing _anything? The world was at war for reasons that no one really remembered anymore, but a big part of it was the massacre of magical creatures, the culprit being none other than King Atlan, the ruler of the Kingdom of America.

Did anyone understand the importance of alliances? Dividing and conquering? Two heads are better than one? The very idea had been thrown out long ago. And that was why Amelia had tried so hard-or, at least tried harder than usual-to make peace with Russia, their most threatening rival at the moment. All the while, the useless King of America remained hidden from everyone but his most loyal servant, a man whose name was never discovered. Amelia found her step father's refusal to act, much less discuss something, anything, with the military leaders of America sickening. But there was also the fact that she had been able to get away with acting as a man for so long because of his absence-because he had not stepped foot into their castle after Amelia's mother had died those thirteen years ago, pretending to be the opposite gender was not as difficult as one might think.

To the staff in the castle, she was peasant girl who had been taken in by Matthew and Arthur as a child. She diligently carried out the will of the genius Alfred F. Jones, America's most famous military leader. Alfred was the stepson of King Atlan, an enigma who never left his room but for motivational speeches, who always found a way out and in of the castle without anyone noticing his leave or return. When King Atlan still showed himself regularly, a certain young girl with a flat chest had cut her hair to look like a boy's. Many compared the father and son, saying they were similar in their tendency to keep away from others, but little else. King Atlan was a man of few words. After his second wife had died, he stopped showing himself to the crowd like other kings did. He didn't even show his face to his sons. His room was guarded heavily by guards with uncanny skill-at all times. If you wanted to see Atlan, it would never happen. If he wanted to see, your last sight would probably be his chambers, for no one-save his loyal servant-had ever come out of his maze of a room alive.

On the other hand, Alfred F. Jones was charismatic, outspoken, and one to take charge.

He was an important role model that raised the hopes of the Kingdom of America's population. A population riddled with famine, disease, and unbearable sadness. When hope was needed, it was found in anything and anyone. Amelia had found this to be true after the first time she had made a speech, still a child. Puberty had come late, working in her favor, and lowering her voice a few octaves was the simple solution to keep from being caught. She had been cheered on, even though she was seen as a young boy. People did not care who it was at that point, she had realized, all they needed was something to believe in. Ever a patriotic spirit, she gave them that.

As time wore on, her breasts became substantially larger, along with her butt, and her hair grew out. It was then that she allowed herself to truly be a girl. But another problem arose: who would continue her exciting speeches? Well, as her mother had always told her: there is a solution to everything but death.

Few in the kingdom knew their beloved Alfred was actually their beloved Amelia. Of those few, two in particular, knew far more than that. Matthew Williams and Arthur Kirkland, Amelia's twin and step brother, loved their sister dearly. So much that they understood her yearning to please her people when they were well aware they could not. Surprisingly, it was Matthew-shy, kind, agoraphobic Matthew-was the first to suggest he create Alfred F. Jones. All it took was a few tweaks using Arthur's magic, and Matthew, a violet-eyed, honey blonde with oval glasses, was Alfred, a short-haired sunny blonde with bright blue eyes as clear as the sky-a man with no need for something as trivial as glasses. Alfred's image, Arthur had proudly admitted, was the exact male version of his sister.

At first, Amelia was not convinced with the idea, not because of the looks, but because of Matthew's inability to act like the proud man she needed Alfred to be. But it was her only option, so she made it work by forcing Matthew through situations in which he was to pretend to be Alfred. It took countless hours, but Amelia's and Matthew's travail paid off. Eventually, it only took a few seconds for Matthew to change from himself to his 'twin.'

Without her faithful brothers, Amelia would never have been able to accomplish all that she had, and for that she was eternally grateful. But both had faults, just like she did. At times, she wished it didn't have to be her. She wished either Matthew or Arthur would finally find the right qualities in themselves to lead their kingdom, as they rightfully should.

The thought was swiped away quickly. If her brothers took charge, she would have no purpose. Being a nobody scared her more than being caught, it seemed.

At the age of twenty-three, any of Amelia's initial worry of being caught by her father, her kingdom, was thrown out the window, replaced by thoughts of how to save it.

When Amelia heard a soft tap at her door, she started, still clad in nothing but undergarments and a surplus of pain.

A head of wavy shoulder-length hair popped into the room, followed by concerned violet eyes slightly unclear behind oval glasses, and a timid smile.

"Mia, are you okay?" Matthew asked.

Anger was still coursing through Amelia's veins, and she didn't want to take it out on her brother, so she gave him a wide smile and said, "Yep! I'm fine, bro. Good to see ya, by the way," in an attempt to shoo him away.

"I'm not stupid, you know." Matthew walked to Amelia's side and sat down on the bed next to her. "I can see you've been crying."

Amelia cursed under her breath, but tried to cover up. "What are you talking about, Mattie? I am perfectly _fine. _You see this awesome face? It's smiling; a universal sign of okay-ness."

"That's usually the case," Matthew admitted, voice gentle, "but I've found that, for some, it's a way to hide what they don't want to be seen."

Just like that, the facade was gone. Amelia's grin dropped, her figure slumped, and her eyes looked down, leaking more unwanted tears. Matthew reached forward to grab his sister, making a mental note to put some damn clothes on her as soon as possible, and pulled her into a reassuring hug. He didn't say anything; he knew words weren't necessary. Their embrace had always been a tacit surrender. Whenever the crier was ready, the hugger was listening.

"Jesus Christ," Amelia sobbed into her brother's shoulder, "w-what the fuck is _wrong _with the w-world?"

**A/N: I know, this chapter was kinda boring, but I really want you guys to get some quick character development so I can get to the good (read: fun to write) stuff! Next chapter will be America's perspective, though I might add some Russia at the end. And then back to Russia's for sure. So please leave me a review to let me know what you think, friends! Hugs!**


	5. Departing

**-Chapter 5-**

"Well, a lot of things," Matthew answered. "Will you tell me what's wrong, Mia?"

"Stupid fucking Arthur-being bitchy-and those stupid Frenchies-goddamn China-when the hell will Atlan do something-I just-UGH!" Amelia garbled out in an unintelligible mess of words.

"Okay, okay," Matthew sighed. "So that's not going to work. How about I start with a question: where were these past few days?"

Amelia shut her mouth. She didn't want to tell Matthew. Her neglectance to tell him what was going would really hurt him. Even she-one the most oblivious people in the world-knew that.. "I-it doesn't really matter, does it?" She pulled away and wiped her runny nose. "I'm feeling a lot better now, actually. Thanks, Mattie. That was real weak of me, wasn't it? This hero only needed a second to be super awesome again! My awesomeness was recharging."

"Where were you?" Matthew asked his sister. She was an idiot sometimes. It was obvious how uneasy she was feeling judging by the hand that reached to scratch the back of her head, a nervous habit she had developed as a child.

"You're not gonna like it, Mattie."

"I didn't think I would."

"I...went to Russia."

Matthew froze. He would strangle her! Why didn't she bring anybody else to keep her safe? How could she be so reckless? Most importantly...why hadn't she told him? Matthew felt a strong pang of betrayal that showed on his face. He wanted to give her a nice long speech, but figured Arthur had beat him to it. Besides, he wasn't his older brother. He had the ability to keep his anger in check, and knew Amelia became defensive when someone was upset at her. So he opted to understand the whole story before jumping to any conclusions.

"But I'm totally fine, and I went there for a reason, du-"

"Why?" He asked in a curt tone.

Amelia winced. She swallowed nervously. "I-I can't tell you that, but-"

"Don't tell me you're fine. Look at you! You are _not _fine." Matthew gestured to his sister's battered body that, oddly, Arthur hadn't healed. He raised his voice, but his soft spoken personality wouldn't allow it to be very loud. "Why would you do this?"

Amelia didn't answer.

"Oh no you don't. You will tell me this instant!" Matthew demanded in an uncharacteristically stern voice.

"No, it's not-," Amelia let out a breath. "Okay, alright, but...it would probably be better if you didn't know. For your safety."

"Oh, maple. Mia, what have you gotten yourself into?" Matthew asked warily.

"Nothing! At least, not yet, anyway."

"Tell me."

"It was a test," she blurted out.

"Of course-of course it was a test. I suppose it's part of another game of yours?"

"...yeah, I guess you could say it was."

"For the love of maple-"

"I had a reason this time! For once in my fucking life, Matthew, I'm trying, actually trying, to do something that matters! And I needed help. You and Arthur wouldn't cut, okay? I mean, you _could_, but I know you wouldn't, and I guess I can understand that. We stopped doing this kind of shit a long time ago." Amelia's expression darkened. "You don't know all the B.S. I've done to get this far."

Matthew's eyes widened when it clicked. _Don't tell she's going to…!_

"Amelia, you don't mean...I-I don't understand-who?"

"Atlan."

"K-king Atlan?"

"The one and only."

"My God, I-I don't think th-this is-"

"Right? I thought you'd say that. That's why I need Ivan. He'll do it. He will. He's got plenty of hate in him, and I've got this feeling Ivan and I are on the same page."

"Oh. W-well, alright. Will you tell me everything now, then?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Amelia reluctantly told Matthew her plans. The more she revealed, the more appalled he became. Everything she said seemed impossible. His heart sank. If she really went through with all of this, no matter how convinced she was that she would live, there was a large possibility that she wouldn't. There were too many things that could go wrong.

When Amelia finished, she poked Matthew's face to get some sort of reaction out of him. When ten minutes passed and he still said nothing, she laughed nervously.

"Um, Matt, you're starting to scare me. Lemme know what's going on in that big ol' head of yours, little bro."

That snapped Matthew out of his thoughts. "I'm older."

"Thank God, it's alive!"

"Oh, please," Matthew rolled his eyes, then remembered what Amelia had just confessed to him and jumped. "Mia, you can't seriously think this'll work. You're plan is really unstable, and you haven't done anything like this in years. We stopped for good a long time ago."

"You know it's not like that. This is different." Amelia said softly.

"Are you sure this will fix anything?"

Her eyes sparked. "Of course I'm sure! Look at what he's done to us, to my people! I won't stand for it!"

"I think there are better ways to handle this, the-"

"What would mom think?"

He didn't answer.

"You know what I think? I think you fucking agree with me. And I think you shouldn't tell Arthur," she added as an afterthought.

Matthew bit his lip. Amelia was right. He agreed with her, with what she thought needed to be done, but selfishly did not want his sister to do it. If she died...he was tired of dealing with the aftermath of a death. The heartache, the crying, the everything.

"I won't," he said finally. "Just-just promise me one thing, Mia.

Amelia blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected Matthew to agree so easily. "Anything!" She said excitedly.

"Don't get yourself killed." Matthew whispered.

Amelia smiled reassuringly. "You got it."

"And don't trust that Russian."

"Yessir!"

Matthew gave a small smile. "Then I guess we better get you to Russia. But first, we've got a lot to talk about."

…

Matthew exhaled. "Here," he said, "that's everything. Are you sure you're ready?"

Amelia gave a thumbs up. "Yeah, Matt."

"Before you go, I know it's a bit late to ask, but you're _sure _you want to do this?"

"We talked about this, dude. Besides, I'm surprised we haven't received any news of Russia's declaration of war. Do you think he told his king what happened?"

"If you didn't, then I don't think he did either. Almost like it never happened."

"Right."

For the first time in the weeks that they had been preparing for her trip, Matthew saw uncertainty in her eyes.

"It's okay to be sacred, Mia." He said.

"Jesus, Matt," she scratched the back of her head, "I'm fucking terrified."

"You'll be fine," Matthew said, more to himself than his sister.

Amelia nodded. "I-I don't know what the hell's gonna happen after I talk to him, what if he-"

Matthew put a hand on her shoulder. "I remember you saying sometime ago that one must always trust an American gut. Are you doubting yourself?"

"No!"

"Well then, you'll be just fine."

"Okay, okay."

They were both quiet for a minute.

Amelia finally asked, "You sure _you'll _be okay? If you can't cover for me…"

"Don't worry. Remember, Toris and the others will help as well. Speaking of, I really think we should tell Arthur about this."

"Too late now," Amelia grunted.

"Yeah...but let's go over this one more time." Matthew bit his lip. "Toris is going to take the cart to Russia with the shipment of fruits, you'll use this-" he grabbed a small circular device from a bag of supplies, "to get into Russia's castle-which you better take care of, because Arthur would kill me if he found out I gave it to you-and talk to Ivan. Make sure he agrees. After that, you'll have to find some other way to return. This-" he gestured to a large wad of cash, "should take care of you get back, we'll continued with the next step."

"Got it." Amelia took the small black bag from Matthew.

She spotted Toris walking towards them, and turned to her brother. "Looks like it's time. Um, thanks a lot, bro. I don't know how I would've done any of this without you." She pulled him into a hug.

Matthew wrapped his arms around his sister's back and said, "Maybe that'll teach you to tell me about these things, eh?"

"Mrs. Amelia, we should leave. They will become suspicious if we take too long on my delivery." Toris politely remarked from behind the two.

The siblings separated, said their goodbyes, and Amelia was crammed into a cart full of fruit.

"Be careful!" She heard Matthew call, though his voice was already sounding farther and farther away.

Amelia hugged herself. Everything seemed so...surreal. After years of making sure she could get to the top, all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. In a matter of weeks, many of her trusty staff were in on her plan. They were surprisingly compliant, despite the suddenness of it all. But finally, _finally _King Atlan would get what he deserved. So why did she get an odd feeling that something would go terribly wrong?


	6. Rewinding

**A/N: So sorry! Aaaaah, I've had this much done for a really long time, but I couldn't think of where to go there...next story I should probably plan out what to write instead of randomly starting something. To make it up, I'll update again by Monday!**

**Anyway, can someone PLEASE tell me how to make those damn line breakers?**

**-Chapter 6-**

Ivan liked a lot of things about his kingdom. The dancing, music, food-though it was questionable at times-and people. Ah, the people. They were strong. They had to be. His kingdom was not always kind-it had a mind of its own. Like him, many citizens were rather large, burly. The women were not dainty like those of the Kingdom of France. The men were not weak like those in the Kingdom of Italy.

But the one thing he hated was the weather. The snow was...insufferable. It was the exact opposite of what he craved most in the world-sunshine. Ivan wanted to be washed by rays of sunlight, sunlight so bright it burned. He wanted to be surrounded by his lovely, warm, beautiful sunflowers.

When would his Last All Clear be sounded, he wondered. As he walked down the dark halls of his castle, he thought of what his Last All Clear could be. The vengeance he so desperately held onto made him tired, exhausted even. Memories of his older sister fueled his need for revenge, but the sadness tied tightly to the anger made him weary. Every time Ivan questioned whether or not his actions would make his older sister happy-knowing the answer would be absolutely not- then he remembered the night she was murdered. And rage was called upon.

So why couldn't he stop, when his worn down mind and body wanted to? He lived for it now. It gave him a purpose, an excuse for killing hundreds of innocent Americans, Asians, Russians. It allowed him give in to the thirst for blood that consumed his thoughts. As long as his mind reasoned that it was his sister, he would allow it. And everything was for his sister. Ivan made it a point not to think about what she would think of all of this. She would be sad, maybe a little angry, definitely disappointed. But she would forgive him. She always did-her soft heart didn't allow otherwise.

He was getting closer. King Atlan was within reach, finally. However, the cost of his death may be more than Ivan could pay. Which reminded him, what had that idiot American been trying to say with her cryptic words? Ivan was not sure if he had heard her correctly when she had said, "If he's still alive." Was it possible she doubted her king, her father? All the signs said yes, she had, but rationality kept Ivan from being convinced. No one in her position would be stupid enough to be skeptical about their leader, unless she had a death wish. Perhaps she would have said something had Natalya not interrupted. Ivan shook his head slightly. There was no point in worrying about that now.

He had better things to focus on, like how satisfied he would be when he slit King Atlan's throat.

Nagging him, though, was the seed of doubt that had been growing ever since he had ordered the desolation of an innocent town in America when he had discovered American spies in his castle: was one man's death worth everything Ivan had sacrificed? Here he was, Russia's greatest military leader. He was also one of the most feared men in his kingdom. He was regarded as an evil man who murdered others in cold blood. But they didn't know! No one knew what Atlan had done! They didn't know that he would probably be doing them a favor by killing that insect of a man. It made Ivan sad that he was no longer able to walk up to a random person and start a conversation with them. Although that hadn't happened often before, he still liked the idea of the possibility. He had always been a man who wanted to be liked by others. He wanted friends and a family, he just didn't know how to express that want through anything other than violence and cruelty. And his anger had overshadowed his desires.

"But is it WORTH IT!" Ivan roared at an empty hallway. He was breathing hard. "This isn't what I want," he hissed.

With a reluctant sigh, he left the castle through the back doors, ignoring the guards who protested his exit at such a time. It was past nightfall, after all, and he was a hated man throughout his kingdom.

Ivan walked past his maze of a garden, searching for the beautiful patch of sunflowers that was his reprieve. The huge piece of land was large enough to compare to a small town. A small town overflowing with perfectly trimmed hedges, old twisted trees, and flowers taller than people and smaller than his hand. In the very back corner, a secluded pond was surrounded by fully grown sunflowers, each bright enough to be a slice of the sun.

King Winter-or General Winter, as the king liked to call it-ruler of Russia, was a powerful mage. He had the pond filled with fairies especially for Ivan. General Winter had even made the sunflowers a shade of yellow more like the sun to please Ivan. When he reached the peaceful clearing, he sat himself in the green grass.

He closed his eyes, and all was silent for a moment. Ivan did not bother keeping track of how longer he was there. He was lulled into a relaxed position, comforted by the buzzing of the palm-sized fairies he had awoken. They glowed different colors, their wings intricate and pretty, like the rest of their bodies. A dark green color resembling that of a leaf ran down the creature's arm and legs in lines, making them look like they were wrapped in vines.

It was nice. Fairies did not judge him, only watched with curiosity. Ivan stayed still as a particularly interested fairy landed on his shoulder.

"What does it feel like to fly?" he asked it. "What does it feel like to be able to fly, but unable to leave this pond, because someone else is not letting you?" General Winter had put a magic barrier around the pond that kept the fairies from leaving.

The quiet snap of a twig made Ivan's snap his head up. He glanced around with narrowed eyes, a hand traveling to the metal faucet pipe he kept in his coat.

There were muffled curses, and then a crash sounded as a figure dropped from a tree that was next to the hedges outlining the garden.

Ivan immediately stood, on his guard. He walked over to the person who fell and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. Ivan lifted the man...no, woman. She was a woman. And not just any woman, it was that damn American!

"You fool," Ivan sneered.

Amelia groaned and rolled her head back. Her hair shifted as she moved, but it was such a mess Ivan could barely get a glimpse of her face. She wore a warm looking jacket that looked like those that had been used during the in the American military ranks back when King Stalin was still ruling. The shirt underneath her military jacket was short, stopping at her stomach. Amelia's short skirt was short also, an odd piece of clothing to go with her brown boots.

With a look of disgust, Ivan noticed that she was dirty from head to toe. He tightened his hold on the fur of her jacket. "Was this your attempt at an assassination? I had expected a little more effort."

"It was my attempt at a meeting," Amelia grunted. She rubbed her eyes. "I was _supposed _to go through the side of the castle walls, but _someone _gave me the wrong fucking magic-thing! I had to get past those damn gates and guards and hedges and do you know how hard I had to try to get here? You should be honored, you asshole!"

Ivan blinked. "Why not come through the front doors?"

"Remember how the last time I came, you were gonna kidnap me and use me as bait against Atlan?"

"_Da._"

"That sounds like 'yeah,' so I'm gonna assume that's what you meant. Remember how you also took all my weapon-y shit away when I came in?"

"_Da._"

"Yeah, I figure, if you take all my awesome shit away again, and repeat what you did last time, the odds would not be in my favor. So here I am."

With a frown, Ivan released her. Then he bent down and punched her upside the chin.

Her head flew back, along with the rest of her body. Amelia's back hit the ground with a thud. With a string of frustrated and angry curses, she got to her feet, swaying slightly. Ivan rolled his eyes. He punched her again, this time in the stomach, and with as much force as he could muster.

Amelia's let out a pained breath of air and released a short shriek. Then her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She slumped to the ground.

Ivan kneeled and looked at her with distaste. "Do you think I am stupid like you Americans? I will not fall for such blatant lies." He grabbed Amelia and flung her over his shoulder, irritated beyond reason. She was much heavier than she looked. He snatched the black sack that had landed next to her when she fell and walked back to the castle, stiff with anger.

Ignoring the questioning and slightly horrified looks of his guards, he went into his room and entered to closet, where a secret flight of stairs going downward led to a single room he used as a dungeon of sorts. Ivan chained Amelia to the metal cuffs connected to the ceiling. He let her keep her clothes on and decided to look through her things while he waited for her to wake.

**A/N: Am I being mean to Amelia? Cause I thought to myself, "How would there little interaction go?" Duh, America would get her ass kicked by super hot Russia. So, yeah. But no worries, she's a badass too.**


End file.
